Retrospective
by Michea
Summary: Set after Doomsday, before Runaway Bride, Tenth Doctor and a new companion. The complete work for which my drabble Teaser was a teaser for! Obviously not my own characters except Joss read on!


**NOW**

You want to know about my life? You've talked to just about everyone else here; I suppose it's about time you got around to me. Particulars first then: Jocelyn Reynolds, that's Joss to my friends and Miss Reynolds to you. Resident of this fine establishment for nigh on three years now, doesn't time fly? You only want to know the interesting bits though, don't you? Yes, I thought so. Well, let me see…

Remembering everything that happened, it was such a long time ago now.

So I'll go back to when it all started. I had just separated from my husband, John. He wasn't a brute or a lout or anything like that, just difficult to live with; and if I'd lived with him before we married I'd have discovered that before it was too late. As it was, I didn't realize what a complete pain in the bum he was until _after_ the wedding, but I stuck it out for 4 long years, hoping it would get better.

It didn't. So we split.

Working in a number of dead-end jobs – jobs I was shockingly overqualified for – didn't help my mental wellbeing, either. Oh, a teaching degree is a wonderful thing if you have the courage to use it, but I couldn't face getting up in front of a bunch of surly teenagers every day. What could I possibly hope to teach them that they didn't think they already knew? So I answered phones, took messages, lied about how "Mr Johanssen is out of the office at the moment, can I have him return your call?", made coffee, typed correspondence and melted my brain for, funnily enough, 4 long years, hoping it would get better.

It didn't. So I quit.

I sold my car, broke my lease, packed up the belongings that meant something to me, and with the last of my spare cash, bought a one-way ticket to Cambodia with the noble idea of helping those less fortunate than myself. Fortunately, it didn't take anything near 4 long years to find what I was looking for. Orphanages overrun with tiny children who didn't even remember how to smile, run by harried nuns who hadn't the time (and for some of them, the inclination) to sit and play and sing songs and impart knowledge. It was filthy, it was hard work, it paid nothing but my room and board and two meals a day (and sometimes only one), but I never had to lie about Mr Johanssen, and I was too busy loving a hundred kids I could never have borne from my own body – seeing what they needed and giving it to them if I could – for my brain to come even close to melting.

Then a bunch of terrorists thought it might be a neat idea to make Cambodia their target, specifically the neighbourhood where I lived and worked, and the place went to hell in a hand-basket, in a matter of about 60 seconds.

Enter the Doctor.

By the time it was all over, I was half in love with him already. And it felt absurd to refer to him as "The Doctor", to call him Doctor as if it was his name. He didn't even look like a doctor, not any I'd known, anyway. But that's all he gave me – "The Doctor". Go figure.

He invited me to travel with him, and with nothing left to live for in Cambodia, or back in Australia for that matter, I did. And of course I kept my feelings to myself. How do you tell a 900 year old Time Lord you're in love with him? A 900 year old Time Lord who looked, oh, around 35, if that. Even if he was too old for me, at least he didn't look it.

So we traveled. I saw things I never thought possible. We got into and out of scrapes and he laughed like it was the most fun he'd ever had. One day, we barely made it back to the TARDIS with our hides intact…

**THEN**

The Doctor hauled me inside and slammed the door, rocketed across the room and set the TARDIS in motion. Once it stopped, I picked myself up off the floor and tested each limb to survey the damage.

"Where are we?" I asked without looking up.

"Somewhere safe", he replied. A pause: "somewhere between Glasgow and Edinburgh," he continued, knowing I wouldn't let up until I knew exactly where we were. "Are you hurt?"

"Just a bit bruised and battered I think. You?" I finally looked up at him and I felt myself go pale. His face was a mask of orangey blood; I couldn't even see where it was coming from.

Seeing my expression, he brought a hand to his face.

"Oh," he said. "Well, it'll heal."

Typical male, doesn't matter what planet they're from.

I went to him and found the source, a large cut on his forehead, just below the hairline.

"Human or not, head wounds still bleed like there's no tomorrow," I muttered to myself. "Hope this won't need stitches."

"I said, it'll heal, leave it be," he said, pushing my probing fingers away.

"Well, you're not walking around here looking like a horror movie, I'm going to clean it up," I told him firmly, and went to fetch a basin of water, disinfectant, and dressings. I didn't need to look at him to know he was rolling his eyes at me.

I returned and started cleaning the blood from his face, lifting the hair gently from his forehead. He sat still and didn't flinch, even when I told him "this might sting" and applied the disinfectant. I blew on the wound gently to dry the disinfectant and he closed his eyes.

"That can't be hygienic," he commented softly.

"Probably not, but it feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Hmmm".

Carefully, I held the edges of the wound together with tiny strips of meditape. It didn't actually look bad enough to need stitches, once all the blood was washed away, which was fortunate because _I_ certainly wasn't going to attempt it. And taking him to a hospital really _was_ out of the question. How do you explain to the triage nurse that _this_ Doctor has two hearts?

I surveyed my work. "Much better", I said, satisfied. "It might scar but your hair does that great flippy thing at the front – it'll cover it up."

"Flippy thing?" He asked, mimicking the hand gesture I'd made.

"Yeah, flips down over your forehead."

"Ah, I see. Well, completely unnecessary but thanks anyway," said the Doctor, putting a hand on my shoulder. I flinched away and yelped in pain. His eyebrows knitted with concern as he peeled my woolen cardigan carefully away from my shoulderblade. "Let me see, oh why didn't you say something?!" He scolded me.

"How bad is it?" I asked through gritted teeth as the blood-matted fibers tore away from my skin.

"Can't tell, looks like I'll have to clean you up too."

He left to fetch clean water and I pressed my palms against my ribs gingerly, wondering if I'd missed anything else. In my shock and fear of seeing the Doctor's face so covered with blood, I'd completely forgotten I'd received my fair share of the battering we'd copped.

I felt sore all over, but nothing felt sprung or cracked, and there didn't seem to be blood coming from anywhere but my shoulder blade. And my puffed and swollen lip. I must look like someone's battered wife, I thought.

Returning with clean water and soft clothes, the Doctor cleaned up my wound as gently as he could, flinching himself every time he felt me wince.

"Easy, easy," he soothed. "There, it's not much more than a messy graze really."

He dressed the graze and, checking my cardigan, discarded it. It was torn and covered in blood and completely ruined.

"I'll find you something else," he promised.

I nodded numbly, trembling with fatigue and delayed shock, and from his touch.

"I think you need to rest," he said, gathering me up in his arms as if I weighed no more than a feather pillow. He carried me to my room and laid me gently on the bed, and as he straightened to go, I held onto his hand.

"Don't leave. Please." I was feeling fragile and vulnerable by now. "I don't want to be alone."

"Alright," he said, compliantly. He took off his pinstriped jacket and incongruous high-tops, and lay facing me in his shirt, waistcoat and trousers. I took one of his big, slender hands in both of my small, pale ones, and fell asleep almost immediately.

Many times during the night I awoke to find him lying next to me, either on his back, staring at the ceiling, or facing me, his large dark eyes on mine. I don't think he slept. He didn't need to in the way I did – an hour here and there would keep him, as long as he got a "decent, human sleep" (as he put it) once in a while. In the darkened room I couldn't see the paleness of his skin, or his freckles, but I knew they were there. I knew he was there and I felt safe. I dreamed. I woke. I dreamed again. I dreamed I told him I loved him. I dreamed he loved me back.

In the morning when I woke up he was still lying there, watching me. He smiled.

"Hey."

"Hey," I smiled back, regarding his rumpled attire. "Did you lie here all night in your clothes?!"

"You wouldn't let me leave; otherwise I would've got into me jimjams."

I giggled. The idea of the Doctor in his "jimjams" was far too adorable for words. He helped me into a sitting position and noted my ginger movements.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

"Stiff. Just sore mostly."

"Go have a hot shower, it'll help. I'll make some tea."

I reached around to touch the dressing on my back. "What about…?"

"Oh don't worry about that, its waterproof," he told me. "Good for a few showers at least."

He rose to leave but paused with his hand on the doorknob, and turned to face me.

"How long…" he began, and then stopped. There was a strange look on his face, as though he was struggling with something.

"How long what?" I asked. "Doctor?"

He shook off the odd look and said: "Never mind. I'll… go make the tea."

Still shaking his head left me alone and I went to have a hot shower. He was right. It did help.

Drinking hot tea in what passed as the kitchen, we talked about staying where we were for a few days, to recover and heal. To rest. He mentioned going out to get food and we talked about what might be available here at this time of year, and in this century (it was apparently around 1850). And every now and then I caught that queer look on his face. I opened my mouth to question him, but something told me to leave it. Yes, something was on his mind, but he would come to it in time.

He went out for the food later; we'd already agreed I should stay behind in the TARDIS. I'd attract the wrong sort of attention with a cut and swollen lip, and his hair hid his wound. I poked my head out the door as he left for a quick look at the countryside. Pretty. Chilly. Early afternoon by the looks of things.

I pottered about for a while, straightening this and that, and waited. And waited. I grew tired and started feeling achy again – the effects of the hot shower had long since worn off. I lay down on the couch in the sitting room, intending only to rest my eyes for a moment, and I must have dozed off.

I woke. How long had I been asleep? No clocks in the TARDIS, and I no longer wore a watch, time had become a little meaningless, and so I had no point of reference. I could have been asleep a half hour, an hour, 4 hours, or 5 minutes. I wandered into the control room, moving carefully as I'd stiffened up again, and found it empty. Of course, the TARDIS was huge, possibly endless, and the Doctor could be anywhere in it, but I didn't believe he'd have returned without letting me know, and I didn't sense him at all.

If my stiff and aching limbs were anything to go by, I'd been lying in the same position for a while. I poked my head out the door again and was alarmed to find it near-dark outside. Where was he?? How long did it take to buy bread, milk and a paper, for goodness sake?

When at last the Doctor returned he looked rather disheveled. He lifted his hand to his forehead and I was by his side in an instant.

"Where have you been, you've been ages?!" I scolded.

"I… ran into a bit of trouble," he said, averting his eyes from mine.

"How d'you mean, ran into a bit of trouble?" I demanded. "I thought we were 'somewhere safe'!"

"I doesn't matter!" He assured me. "The assembled hoards of Genghis Khan couldn't get through that door, and believe me, they've tried!" His eyes told me to drop it, so I did. He rubbed the wound on his forehead gingerly, not quite scratching, as though he expected pain.

"Is it hurting?" I asked him.

"Just a little tender. And itchy."

"Let me see." And I brushed away his hair gently with my hand. "God, you're healing quickly! There's almost no bruising, and…" I peeled away one of the strips of meditape. "This is unbelievable! This cut… It's like it was never there! You probably won't even have a scar."

"Told you," he murmured.

I peeled away the rest of the meditape, muttering to myself as I went. I could see the tiny hairs on his forehead moving with my breath, my face was that close to his, and he shuddered under my touch.

Without thinking, I lowered my own bruised lips to his forehead and pressed them against the healed wound. When I pulled away he touched my lip with one finger.

"Your poor mouth," he said, almost inaudibly.

"It'll heal," I told him, my poor mouth now only inches from his. "You're trembling."

"So are you," said the Doctor, and he kissed me, gently for fear of hurting what was already damaged.

We parted and my hands were in on his face, in his hair.

"Doctor," I choked out, and he smiled. "I'm in love with you…"

"I know," he said, and I knew what had been on his mind. I hadn't just dreamt it. "And I'm in love with you. Just took me a while to realize it."

He kissed me again, and I forgot my bruises, my grazes and aches, in his arms as I'd longed to be almost since we'd met.

We stayed that way, in each others arms, just resting and healing for 4 days, just outside of Bathgate.

Things come up when you fall in love with an alien, and he admits he loves you back. The night before we left Glasgow, we were working side by side, repairing a panel of the console, when I broached a topic that had been on my mind.

"Just how human are you?" I asked, tentatively, unsure how to get to my point.

"I'm not human at all," he replied; his tone implying it was a monumentally stupid question.

"You look human," I pointed out.

"Yes," he agreed, amiably, and continued to work.

This was going nowhere.

"What I mean is: how similar are Time Lords to humans? I know you've got two hearts, while we only have one. And you don't need to sleep as much as we do. But you're obviously capable of love..." I trailed off when he smiled at me and I was lost for a moment in dark eyed, floppy haired, freckled, pin-striped perfection.

"Yes," he smiled. "I am capable of that."

"Sooo." How to go on? "Are you capable of…"

"Physical love?" He prompted, gently.

"Yeah," I said, eyes down.

He tucked a finger under my chin and lifted it until I looked him in the eye.

"Yes," he answered. "I'm capable of that, too."

Well, as it turned out, he was very capable. If a little out of practice.

Not long after we became lovers, I broached another topic that had been on my mind.

"Tell me about Rose," I asked him.

"There's not much to tell," he answered, busy suddenly with a piece of equipment. "She traveled with me for a while, we were separated, and I couldn't go back for her, end of story."

Well, there was more to it than that, I could tell by his body language.

"No, I mean, what was she like? Where was she from?"

"She was just a kid from London." He shrugged, picking up his sonic screwdriver and waving it ineffectually at the hunk of metal he was holding.

"Doctor," I coaxed, laying a hand on his arm.

He sighed and dropped what he was doing. I raised my eyebrows at him, waiting.

He took my hand and silently led me to the sitting room, pulling me down onto the squashy sofa next to him.

"Rose," he began, still holding my hand, turning it in his absently, "was just a teenager when I met her. She was gutsy and courageous and compassionate. She was bubbly and fun and always up for adventure." His eyes got that faraway look again.

"Did you love her?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, then looked into my face, "but it was different from… you know."

"Me? Us?"

"Yes."

"How so?" I frowned.

"Just different."

I considered this for a moment.

"Did she love you?"

His expression pained. "Yes," he whispered, almost inaudibly.

I didn't ask anymore. Rose was clearly a painful memory for him. But I wondered about her. What she'd been like (beyond _his_ vague description), what she'd looked like, how she'd met the Doctor, and how she'd become separated from him.

But most of all, I wondered about the nature of their relationship. How he'd loved her. And she him.

Clearly I wasn't getting anymore answers from the Doctor himself, but who else had known them both?

Captain Jack Harkness came into our lives a little while later. The Doctor had told me very little about the Captain, even less than he'd told me about Rose, if that was possible. All I knew was that he'd been human, a Time Agent (whatever that was) from 51st century earth. He'd traveled with the Doctor and Rose, and he'd died fighting the Daleks, not long before the last time the Doctor regenerated.

It was the middle of the night, inasmuch as there are nights in the TARDIS, and during one of his infrequent, human-length sleeps, that he sat bolt upright in bed. Perspiration poured down his face and dripped from his hair, and he was breathing in great, whooping sobs. Scared the hell out of me.

"Jack!" He choked out, and started scrambling out of bed.

"Wha… What are you doing? It's the middle of the night!" I sprang out of bed after him, as fast as my sleep-dulled body would allow.

He was heading for the control room, and already had the TARDIS in motion by the time I reached him.

"Doctor!" I exclaimed. "Jack who? _Captain_ Jack? You told me he was dead!"

He ignored me and continued to dash around the console in his pajamas, pressing buttons and turning dials, muttering to himself about time lines.

"Doctor!!" I shouted at him. "For goodness sake…"

"He's not dead!" He exclaimed gleefully. "I knew I'd been missing something, something I'd forgotten with my regeneration, but it stayed locked away!" He tapped the side of his head, eyes gleaming manically.

I shook my head at him, speechless with confusion. I'd been fast asleep when he'd erupted out of bed and started dashing around like a lunatic, and I was only really coming to my senses now.

"Doctor, _stop_." I said firmly, grabbing hold of him to make him cease his frenetic movement. "How can he still be alive if he was _"exterminated"_ by the Daleks?"

"Rose!" He crowed, joyfully. "I sent her home but she opened the heart of the TARDIS and came back! She destroyed the entire Dalek fleet! Turned them into dust! Then she brought Captain Jack back to life! She was burning up, I absorbed the energy of the time vortex and I regenerated and I forgot, but it just came back! Jack is still alive!!!" All this information tumbled out of his mouth in the space of about 7 seconds, it was the most information on either Rose or Jack than I'd ever been given and I tried to process it as the TARDIS came to a halt.

And the Doctor prepared to exit stage left, wearing only his "jim jams".

"Oh no you don't! Not like that!" I told him, only just getting in front of him before he opened the door. "Okay, so Jack's still alive and we've gone back to get him, presumably. But _think_, Doctor! You've regenerated since then, he's not going to recognize you like this anyway, and you're going to run out there in your _pajamas_?"

Manic gleam still in his eye, he considered this for a moment.

"You're right," he conceded, and shot off towards the wardrobe. I shook my head.

"Honestly, it's like living with a hyperactive four year old," I muttered to myself, heading back to his room to change out of my own pajamas.

I caught up with him just as he was lacing up his high-tops in the massive warehouse that was the TARDIS's wardrobe. I shook my head ruefully but didn't bother trying to tell him _again_ that high-top sneakers definitely did _not_ go with a pin-striped suit. Where he'd picked up _that_ particular affectation, I'd probably never know.

"Before you race on out there, what do I need to know about Jack?" I asked him.

"He's a flirt," he told me. "A real ladies man. Or a man's man, depending on what mood he's in." And he dropped me a wink.

"Oh-kay," I said, slowly. He'd definitely never mentioned_ that_.

"He's, you know, gregarious, likes to have fun, likes to meet people, chat them up. He thinks he's a coward, but he's actually quite brave, really. Resourceful. Used to be a con-artist, did I tell you that?" He had taken my hand and was now dragging me back towards the door.

"No," I grumbled, running to keep up with him. "You never tell me anything."

"Oh, well, he tried to trick me and Rose into buying this piece of space junk, nearly destroyed the human population with a plague of nanogenes." He smiled fondly at this little piece of reminiscence.

"And we're back to rescue him, why?" I asked. This Captain Jack sounded dangerously stupid.

The Doctor paused and gave me a look as though _I_ was dangerously stupid.

"Because he's my friend."

"Of course," I said, nodding as if this made perfect sense. "Doctor…"

"Protocol 57." He ordered, briskly.

Protocol 57 was supposed to be a way of keeping us both safe, wherever we traveled now. Keeping our distance, not letting anyone know the true nature of our relationship so I couldn't be used to blackmail the Doctor. Old friend he may be, but obviously the Doctor didn't trust Captain Jack Harkness as far as that.

"Doctor," I repeated, placing my hand over his.

"It'll be alright," he assured me, and opened the door.

For a 51st century man, Captain Jack looked remarkably 20th century. Dressed in worn black leather pants, and a t-shirt that may have once been white, and looking as though he hadn't had a proper shave in months, he still cut a dashing figure. The Doctor had also failed to mention that he was "devilishly handsome", as my mother would have put it. His black hair had the same tumbled look as the Doctor's, like it was in need of a cut, and his eyes were pale blue – chips of ice as he regarded these strange people who'd emerged from the TARDIS. Not who he'd been expecting, clearly.

"Who are you?" He demanded, aiming what appeared to be a homemade bazooka at our heads. "Where's the Doctor?"

"Woah there, big fella," said the Doctor, amiably, hands in the air. "It's me. The Doctor. I've changed a bit." He admitted.

"Prove it."

"Um, yes, a bit of proof should be in order," he nodded, lowering his hands a little and moving seemingly at random, but shielding me with his body at the same time.

"Hands in the air, "big fella", what are you doing with the TARDIS and what have you done with the Doctor?" Apparently, either the Captain hadn't noticed me standing there, or he'd lumped me in with whatever vile scheme he imagined had been concocted.

"Why don't you just do a scan for alien tech? Check if I've got two hearts, that kind of thing?" The Doctor challenged. It didn't seem like a smart idea to challenge a man holding a weapon of that caliber, but what did I know?

"I can't," Jack snarled, and hoisted the weapon a little higher. "This is the only thing that still works."

"Okay," said the Doctor, clearly searching his memory banks for some specific information that had survived the regeneration. "Okay, you're name is Captain Jack Harkness, and I was first introduced to you as Mr Spock by Rose Tyler. You were trying to sell us a Chula warship which was actually a Chula war _ambulance_ containing nanogenes which threatened to turn the population of London, and in fact the population of the Earth, into air-raid-mask-wearing zombies – how'm I doing so far?"

Jack lowered his weapon slightly and narrowed his eyes.

"Go on, "he said.

"You'd stolen the ship you were "Captaining" from some young thing you'd seduced and had promised to be "back in five minutes", and you plucked Rose from a rope hanging off a barrage balloon in the middle of a London blitz, using a tractor beam. She was wearing a Union Jack t-shirt. You told her you liked it right before you teleported the bomb that was going to kill us onto your ship."

"Well, you've done your research, I'll give you that," answered Jack. He almost looked convinced.

"When we fought the Daleks, you told Rose she was worth fighting for, and you told me you wished you'd never met me, you were better off as a coward. You kissed us goodbye – both of us, and you said: 'see you in hell'. " The Doctor finished, gently.

Jack's face worked to keep that icy cool, but I could see what the Doctor had said had gotten through.

"Hey, doc," Jack finally conceded, dropping his weapon and moving to embrace the Doctor.

"Hey, captain," the Doctor answered, hugging him back. "I always knew you fancied me!" He added, cheekily. Jack laughed.

"Well, everyone knew that!" He agreed. "And who do we have here?"

They turned to me, both grinning.

"I'm Jocelyn Reynolds," I told him, holding out my hand.

Jack's eyes sparkled and he took my hand and bent to kiss it.

"Nice to meet you, Jocelyn Reynolds. I'm Captain Jack Harkness, " and he beamed a smile of perfect white teeth, clearly calculated to charm the pants off me.

"Watch it," growled the Doctor, and Jack turned to him in surprise. The Doctor had gone from convincing his old friend it was actually him, to looking like he was going to rip out Jack's throat, and it took me by surprise as well.

"Oh-kay," said Jack, looking from him to me and back to the Doctor again, dropping my hand like a hot coal. "Is Rose with you as well?" He asked by way of changing the subject.

The Doctor seemed to shake off whatever had come over him.

"No," he said. "It's a long story," he added, seeing Jack beginning to ask the question. "Lets get you out of here, how long have you been stuck here?"

"Three months," Jack replied, hoisting up his weapon again and carrying it into the TARDIS. "I'd almost given up hope of you coming back for me."

"A lot has happened," said the Doctor.

I could feel a long and drawn-out reunion coming on, and felt suddenly tired. I had, after all, been woken from a very deep sleep and hurled through space and time to pick up this fellow.

"I'm going back to bed," I announced, but I don't think either of them heard me. I left them chatting in the kitchen and went to my own room, a place I hadn't slept in for months.

Can't be too careful, I thought.

Hours later, my body clock telling me it was 'morning', I returned to the kitchen to find them still there, surrounded by tea cups and what looked like the last of the biscuits.

"Have you two been at it all this time? Have you even slept?" I asked, searching for a clean cup for myself.

"We haven't been 'at it' at all," said Jack, defensively.

"Oh-kay, what I mean is, have you been _talking_ all this time?"

I didn't want to think about Jack and the Doctor being "at it" – hadn't the Doctor said something about how Jack used to fancy him?

(When I managed to get him alone, I asked the Doctor what he meant.

"Oh that, it's just an in joke," he assured me with a laugh. "You know – did he fancy Rose? Did he fancy me? You know these 51st century guys!"

I shook my head. "So you and he never…?"

"Good lord, no!" The Doctor looked horrified at the thought. "I don't even know _half_ the places he's been. Yech."

Not quite the answer I'd been looking for, but it would have to do.)

"So where are we now and what are we doing?" I asked.

"Well, first a spot of breakfast I think," said the Doctor, jovially.

I eyed the empty biscuit packets.

"Yeah, and where are we?" I prompted.

"Oh, still on Satellite Five, sorry, Games Station," he replied.

"So much for getting out of here."

"We thought we'd wait until you woke up to decide where to next," explained Jack.

Well, at least I still rated high enough on the pecking order to warrant a vote.

"Okay, well since you seem to have decimated the biscuit supply, somewhere for breakfast sounds like a great idea," I began. They regarded me in silence as I thought it over, and began to smile. "How about late 20th century Paris for croissants and fresh coffee?"

"A woman after my own heart." The Doctor smiled warmly at me – lucky I was sitting down by this time or my knees would have given out.

"Then…" I thought some more, and gave Jack a roguish once-over. "Gregarious? Likes to have fun, likes to meet people? Have a bit of a drink and a laugh? So, somewhere noisy with lots of people? Dancing? Booze? Am I getting warmer?"

Jack was grinning by now.

"Yep," I nodded, deciding. "After being stuck on a deserted space station for three months, I think what _you_ need is a good 1970's disco!"

"That's not bad," said Jack, impressed. "She's not bad," he told the Doctor, "I can see why you kept her, she just seems to look inside you and find exactly what you need!"

"That she does," the Doctor agreed, a warm light in his dark eyes, and it was all I could do not to give him exactly what _he_ needed right then and there.

So 20th century Paris found us in need of breakfast, an early afternoon breakfast as it turned out, and we spent what was left of the day wandering around the beautiful city.

Every now and then, when Jack wasn't looking, the Doctor would smile at me, or brush the back of my hand with his, just little gestures to let me know of his affection, to let me know he loved me, even though we had to hide it. I found myself wishing we could stroll hand in hand around this, the most romantic city on Earth, and kiss at the top of the Eiffel Tower, as we saw other couples doing. I longed to plunge my hands into his lovely, tumbled hair, to press my lips and body against his, but I contented myself with the touch of his fingers when he passed me a menu, and him taking my hand to help me down from a horse-drawn carriage.

Walking through the gardens, Jack paused to chat to (or rather, chat_ up_) a pretty Parisian student, who was sitting with a book on one of the benches. The Doctor and I left him to it, strolling on along the path until we were well around the bend and out of eyesight, where he pulled me aside into a fierce embrace, kissing me passionately. Quite taken by surprise, I kissed him back all the same (beggars can't be choosers, as my mother would have said) and it was over in a matter of moments. The Doctor stepped away from me mere seconds before Jack reappeared on the path, chuckling and gloating to himself over the phone number he'd procured (although when he was going to use it I don't know, we were only in Paris for breakfast after all) and I was left gasping for breath and flushed, and trying to explain why to a mystified Jack. The Doctor appeared to be studying a local plant, even removing his sonic screwdriver from his overcoat to scan it, and pretended to be as confused as Jack about my excited condition. If Jack continued to travel with us, it was going to be hard work keeping up the charade, I thought, my heart racing.

As the afternoon faded to evening, we retired to the TARDIS to plot our next move. A 1970's discothèque, somewhere in the US, at Jack's request. When the TARDIS stopped moving again, the Doctor ducked out and retrieved a newspaper which had been discarded.

"Here we go, New York, 1976," he announced triumphantly. "Joss? What is it, what's wrong?"

I was never going to get used to this time travel thing, and it must have shown on my face.

"That's the year I was born," I told him.

The Doctor nodded as if he understood. "Is this going to be too weird for you?"

"No, it's just…. Well, yes, it's weird, but that's okay, I can handle it." I assured him. Much of my experience with the 1970's had been from the point of view of a pram, in nappies, and it hurt the brain just a tiny bit to think I was about to go clubbing, when, depending on what time of year it was, I technically may not have even been born yet.

"Okay!" Said the Doctor, slapping his hands together, and eyeing Jack and me. "Well, you certainly can't be seen looking like that, go and get changed into something more appropriate." And sent us off in the direction of the massive wardrobe. All manner of authentic 70's gear was laid out before us, and I quickly lost Jack in the material jungle.

A short time later I stepped back into the main control room, transformed. The Doctor goggled at me.

"What? Too much?" I asked, twisting about, trying to get a look at myself without the aid of a mirror.

"No, it's perfect," he managed to choke out, eyes wide, jaw resting on his chest. "You look…"

"What??" Oh God, what had I done wrong this time? I thought I'd done fairly well, actually, trying to remember pictures of my mother from the 70's, and around the age I was now. I'd chosen a micro-mini dress in deep purple, and considering the cold draft the Doctor had let in when he'd returned with the newspaper, I'd picked out a white faux fur wrap and hood. On my feet were white platform sandals. I don't normally wear makeup, but I'd lined my eyes with kohl and found some pale pink lipstick, and I'd bouffed my hair so that I looked like (I thought) a brunette Brigitte Bardot.

"You look really sexy," he finally managed.

"Oh," I said, confused. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"No," he whispered, taking my hand, still staring at me. "It's good."

"Is Jack ready yet?" I asked, looking around for him.

The Doctor shook himself and managed to lose the slightly punch-drunk expression.

"No, didn't you see him in there?"

"I lost him around the sequined flares," I told him.

Then Jack appeared, sequined flares (and a matching, skin-tight shirt) put to good use. The Doctor and I laughed and applauded as the Captain struck a "Saturday Night Fever" pose and started dancing like John Travolta around the console.

The Doctor started out the door and I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Hang on a second, aren't you getting changed too?" I asked him.

"No need, this is a classic," he told me, running a slender hand down the lapel of his jacket. "Anyway, I've changed my tie." Which was true enough, he'd changed it for a hideous, slim, black leather thing.

"Come on, you can't go like that, we're all dressed up!" I exclaimed. Jack simply watched this by-play, grinning like it was a tremendous joke. "Well, at least change your shoes," I admonished him. "They won't let you into a nightclub wearing high top sneakers."

"Yes, they will," he said, confidently. "I'm The Doctor."

I shook my head and rolled my eyes, but took his arm when it was offered to me, and slipping my other hand into the crook of Jack's arm, we set off.

The line-up at the front of the club was enormous, but the Doctor showed the bouncers his "psychic paper" and told them he was escorting Hollywood starlets "Jack and Jocelyn". We were ushered in without question – high top sneakers and all.

What a place! The lights, the music, the beautiful people, the fashions! From the corner of my eye I could see the Doctor smiling at me as I gazed around in wonder.

"This is unreal!" I shouted over the music, and squeezed his hand. "Let's dance!"

He gently disengaged his hand from mine.

"Uh, I don't really dance," he said, looking uncomfortable suddenly. He led Jack and I over to a spare table near the dance floor and sat down. We sat through one song, but Jack was beginning to look like he had ants in his pants, and I was feeling the same way. How can you be in an authentic 1970's discothèque and not dance??

Unable to sit still any longer, Jack jumped to his feet and dragged me onto the dance floor. I went, laughing, and we danced to music I'd only ever heard on my parent's vinyl records as a child. The moves were unfamiliar, but trained in classical dance, I picked them up quickly enough, and was soon moving like I was born on the dance floor (well, for all I knew, I'd been conceived on one). Jack was an exceptional dancer, unconsciously graceful and sexy, confident and charming. I could see many female eyes glued to him as he moved (and not a few male ones, for that matter). One song merged into another, I don't know how long we'd been out there, when Jack put his mouth to my ear and said: "Where's the Doctor?"

I spun around. He wasn't at the table. He wasn't near the bar. He wasn't at any of the other tables either.

Near panic and stricken with guilt that I'd forgotten about him, I pushed through the mass of people, beautiful bodies crushed up against each other, searching for him.

There, over by the door. Eyes dull with hurt, and at the same time murderous with rage.

"Doctor!" I squeaked, reaching him as he stepped through the door. "Wait!"

I grabbed his arm and managed to stop him stalking away from me.

"Doctor!" I was near tears. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Furious eyes glared over my head at the closed door, hands clenching into fists, opening, closing again, chest heaving great ragged breaths.

"He can have any woman he wants!" He raged through clenched teeth. "Any man, any woman, any one else. Why does it have to be you?"

"Me? He doesn't want me, we were just dancing!"

"Just dancing?" His tone made it sound as though I'd said we were _just_ committing high treason. Just murder. Just genocide.

"Dancing," I told him. "Its what you do at a disco. You dance. You wouldn't dance with me and Jack did. But that's all!"

He still stared over my head, hands still clenched.

"Doctor," I said again, and touched his cheek, turning his face toward me. "Look at me."  
He did. Dark eyes, full of pain, on mine. Lips trembling.

"He doesn't want me, and I don't want him. I only want _you_. I only _love_, you."

His eyes stubbornly held his fury a moment longer. Then softened.

"You do?" He asked.

"You know I do," I told him. "Oh Doctor…" I reached for him then and he embraced me, crushing me to him.

When he let me go I asked:

"Why won't you dance with me?"  
He shrugged and looked away.

"Because I can't," he said.

I smiled. "Well, not in those clothes, no." I pushed him in the direction of the TARDIS.

"Go and put something decent on and don't be too long," I ordered. "I'm going back inside and I'm going to_ talk_ to Jack, okay? Nothing more."

Back inside the club, Jack was leaning against the bar, engaged in conversation with a pretty blonde. He disentangled himself when he saw me, and headed in my direction.

"Where's the Doctor?" He asked me for a second time. "Did he go back to the TARDIS?"

"Yeah, he's gone back to change into something a bit more 'disco'," I told him with a grin.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think the Doctor was jealous," Jack observed, handing me a drink (and boy, did I need one, after _that_ confrontation, not to mention the dancing)

"Don't be silly," I said, not looking him in the eye.

"Uh huh," said Jack, smiling to himself.

I changed the subject and asked Jack about his travels, and we got to comparing some of the different things we'd seen, traveling with the Doctor. After a while I realized he'd been gone a long time, and a worm of fear started to uncoil in my gut. Maybe he'd left in the TARDIS, after all, I thought. Jack seemed to be thinking the same thing, and looked at his watch.

"Say, he's been gone a while, hasn't…. oh speak of the devil! Hel-lo Doctor!" I followed his line of sight and did a double take at this vision in black and white spandex. He'd slicked his hair back and somehow his sideburns looked longer (was there anything that sonic screwdriver _couldn't_ do?) He leaned against the door in a nonchalant manner, lopsided grin on his face as I approached him.

"Oh. My. God." Was all I could say.

"What? I look ridiculous, don't I? I'm going to change," he started to turn and I stopped him.

"No, you look…" I giggled.

"Okay, that's it; I'm definitely going to change."

"No, no, no," I grabbed his arm and steered him away from the door, and towards the dance floor, sneaking sideways looks at him as we went.

"What?!" He demanded, starting to look angry again. He refused to move another step.

"You look really sexy," I told him finally. And he did.

"Really?" He ran his hands down the front of his shirt and looked pleased with himself. "You've never told me that before!"

"What took you so long? I was worried you'd decided to leave after all."

"Never!" He assured me, and then looked embarrassed. "I looked up disco dancing on the TARDIS database. I was perfecting my moves."  
I struggled to keep a straight face.

"The TARDIS was teaching you to dance?" I managed.

"Yeah," he admitted, looking as though he'd like nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

"Well," I said, holding out my hand. "Let's see your moves!"

And so we danced. One song after another, and he wasn't that bad at all! The TARDIS must have some obscure information stored in her brain.

He twirled me around away from him, then back into his arms as the music finished, and the DJ murmured "let's slow things dooooown a little".

As a ballad came on, the Doctor's arms remained around me, and he clasped one of my hands to his chest. My other hand went up into his hair on its own volition.

"This is more my style," he said, his face close to mine.

We swayed to the music, our faces inches apart, eyes locked. I pulled his head down towards mine and kissed him deeply, not caring who saw, who knew. I loved him so much and wanted nothing more than for the whole world to see, and admire.

When our lips separated he whispered into my ear: "So much for Protocol 57."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. If _you_ didn't do it _I_ was going to. I couldn't help myself." He twirled me gently and brought me back in close to his body. "I guess Jack knows, then." He commented.

I turned to see Jack dancing with the blonde he'd been talking to earlier. He was grinning broadly and nodding in approval. I laughed softly. "No secrets in the TARDIS!" I said.

The ballad finished and another fast number started, and we picked up the pace again, shaking our "groove thing" for all we were worth. More songs, I danced a couple with Jack, under the watchful eye of the Doctor, who danced politely with the blonde, but looked more than happy to give her back to Jack when we'd finished. Many more songs, I hadn't danced like this since high school!

A particularly frenetic dance finished with me in the Doctor's arms again, our chests both heaving to get in the oxygen and fuel our starved cells. The Doctor's hair had tumbled down onto his forehead and his eyes burned into mine. Oh God, how I wanted him.

"TARDIS!" I gasped, nodding towards the door.

He shook his head.

"Jack," he panted. "Can't leave him…."

"Doctor!" I pleaded, every fibre in my body yearning to meld with his.

"Don't 'Doctor' me!" He scolded. "Can't you tell how much I want you? Here" he grabbed my hands and held them to his chest: "Can't you feel both my hearts beating for you? Can't you feel THIS?" He moved his hips against mine. "But we CAN'T JUST LEAVE JACK HERE!"

I pleaded with my eyes, and then felt another pair of hands on my shoulders.

"Go get a room!" Jack whispered in my ear, and pushed us towards the door. "I'll meet you back at the TARDIS later!"

I handed my key to Jack and smiled my gratitude to him, and, not needing to be told twice, tugged the Doctor toward the door.

We staggered against the closed door of the TARDIS, tearing at each others clothes, exchanging passionate kisses. Stumbling across the control room, we disentangled ourselves from each other, and hurried to the Doctor's bedroom, still kissing as much as our progress would allow.

The Doctor shut the door firmly and stood with his back to it, hair mussed up, eyes glowing. I went to him.

"You looked so sexy on the dance floor," I breathed, unbuttoning his shirt as fast as my trembling fingers would let me. I gave up and ripped it open, baring his chest.

"And you," he said, hoarsely. "I was so jealous when I saw you dancing with Jack; I thought you were going to leave me!"

"Never!" I cried, kissing his lips, his eyes, his neck.

He held me at arms length, held my eyes with his.

"Never?" He asked, breathing hard.

"Not as long as I live," I promised him. I sat back on the bed. "Make love to me, Doctor."

"Oh, I intend to!" He assured me, and he fell on me.

"Oh woman!" He cried at his moment of climax. "Never leave me!"

"Never!" I promised him again, holding his face in my hands and kissing it all over. "Never as long as I live!" And his arms crushed me to him.

The next morning, I left the Doctor sleeping and tip-toed to the kitchen. Jack was there, drinking tea, and he grinned at me.

I smiled back, sheepishly.

"I…. We… It's like…" I stammered.

"I get it," said Jack.

And just like that, it was all out in the open. No secrets in the TARDIS.

Later that same day…

"So what's the problem?" Jack called down to the Doctor.

"No problem, just needs to recharge and reboot," he answered, wiping his hands on a rag. "Might take a couple of hours though." He climbed back up the ladder to the control room floor level.

"So, what? We just have to wait?" I asked.

"Pretty much, yeah," he nodded cheerfully. "No point you two hanging around here though, go for a walk, explore 1976 New York!"

This from the man who nearly tore Jack a new one the night before in a jealous rage?

Clearly Jack was thinking the same thing.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Go, go!" Insisted the Doctor, flapping his hands at us. "I've seen it before and anyway, I have to stay here. Can't be done without me."

"Alrighty then," I said, skeptically, but I followed Jack out the door. Turning back, I caught the Doctor staring after us, and he winked at me.

Amazing what a promise of eternal fidelity will do.

"He sure is cheerful after he's gotten some," Jack remarked.

"Jack!" I exclaimed, and swatted him with one hand. He chuckled and ducked out of the way.

"Yes, he is," I finally agreed. "Does he look that different to you?"

"You didn't know him before?" Jack asked. I shook my head. "Yes, he looks different."

"In what way?"

"Well, he's skinnier for a start. And not as tall. The Doctor I knew was taller and broader across the shoulders. More angular." Jack warmed up to the topic. "He had strong features! You know, big nose, big ears. Shorter hair. Oh, and blue eyes too."

I smiled as I asked: "Did you prefer him the way he was?"

"Well, he was more my type that way," Jack shrugged, and grinned roguishly. "You can keep him."

"Oh thank you, I think I will," I assured him.

We walked in companionable silence while I framed my next question. The question that had been on my mind since I'd realized Jack was the one person who'd known Rose and the Doctor at the same time.

"What can you tell me about Rose?" I asked finally. No point beating around the bush.

"What has _he_ told you?" Jack countered.

"Not much," I answered. "He doesn't seem to want to talk about it."

"Did it occur to you he might have a reason for that?" Jack suggested, gently.

"I need to know what she was to him," I told him. He sighed.

"She was…" he seemed to be searching for a way to put it to me. "He was very indulgent of her." He said, finally. "He wanted to show her things she'd never get to see in her life on Earth."

"He loved her?" I prompted.

"Yes, but it was different."

"This is beginning to sound like a recording," I grumbled. "Different, how?"

"He didn't mind her having other boyfriends, if they made her happy. He was completely confident in his influence over her. He was, I don't know, scornful of their importance in her life. He didn't fly into a jealous rage over a bit of dancing." He looked pointedly at me.

"Oh."

"Yes, he loved her, so did I, for that matter. But Joss," he turned to face me and held my shoulders to make me stop. "He didn't love her like he loves you. That man is crazy in love with you."

We started walking again and I mulled this over.

"How were they separated?" I asked after a while.

"That was after my time," said Jack, but he wouldn't meet my eye. I looked at him curiously, and something occurred to me.

"But he told you about it, didn't he?" I asked. "Didn't he, Jack?"

Jack didn't answer, but he didn't need to. His silence was answer enough. So what had the Doctor told Jack that he didn't see fit to tell me?

"I need to know, Jack," I told him.

"Why do you need to know?" He demanded, stopping to face me again. "Why, Joss? So you can make sure its permanent? So you can be sure she'll never come back again? Take my word for it, she's gone for good and there's nothing he, or you, or I can do about it!" And he stormed off, leaving me standing there with my mouth open. Had I missed something?

"Yes, he loved her, so did I, for that matter…" He'd said.

"So did I, for that matter…"

"So did I…"

Oh dear, I thought.

"Jack!" I shouted, and ran to catch up with him. "Wait!" I grabbed his arm and he turned to face me, furious tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jack, I should have realized."

He swiped at his eyes with one hand. "It's not just about you!" He told me.

"I know, I'm sorry," I said, taking his hands in mine. We stood on the windy street and I let him take his time regaining his composure.

"How did it happen?" I asked, finally.

"She's stuck on an alternative Earth, there's no way to get back to her, or even make contact, not anymore," he explained.

"Alternative Earth?" This was a new concept to me. There were alternative Earths? How many? Is it one of those infinite possibility type of things? Could it happen to me, too?

"Why can't you make contact? Have you tried? Has he?"

"What do you think? Of course he's tried!" Jack gave me a look that reminded me of the Doctor when I'd said something he considered particularly stupid. "It's impossible."

"But…" Why was I making a big thing of this? Did I want to find Rose again? Open up that can of worms? Surely not. "So, an infinite number of alternative Earths, is that how it works?" I asked.

Jack nodded. We turned around and headed back the way we had come, walking in silence, lost in our own thoughts.

"What's the probability of finding the right… I don't know, 'worm-hole' or whatever, to get back then?" I asked finally.

Jack shook his head. "As far as I know it's impossible, that's what _he_ said. There's no way I could calculate something like that."

He stopped, and something seemed to dawn on him.

"But I bet the TARDIS could!"

With the Doctor safely occupied elsewhere, Jack and I huddled over the probability drive and requested the calculation. It didn't take long.

"See," said Jack, pointing to the screen. "Ten to the power of two hundred and sixty five, to one."

"So, pretty much nil probability," I paraphrased.

"Happy?"

"Jack," I said, touching his arm. He scowled but didn't pull away from me. "I'm sorry; I won't bring it up again."

We moved on again and found ourselves in London…

Jack and I browsed through a book store – a novelty for both of us. He'd never been in one, and I hadn't seen one myself for nearly a year. I'd just found the Stephen King novels incongruously located in the Romantic Fiction section, and was about to mention this little anomaly to Jack when I realized he'd wandered off to the next aisle.

"Jack??!" I heard an astonished female voice cry, and I snapped my head up in time to see an attractive blonde goggling at Jack, her dark eyes wide and shocked. "Captain Jack? Is that really you?"

"Rose!" Jack exclaimed, and he embraced her fiercely.

"Rose?" I whispered, equally shocked. But how had we found our way to her "alternative earth"? It certainly went some way to explaining why Stephen King was writing bodice rippers, but the probability drive in the TARDIS had calculated the odds at 10 to the power of 265 to one of ever finding the way here again and… and the TARDIS had found her. So much for "impossible".

Jack and Rose were both laughing and crying and hugging one another and talking at a million miles an hour. I made my way into the next aisle slowly and studied the young woman as surreptitiously as I could. She certainly wasn't a teenager anymore; she looked to be in her late twenties, possibly even her early thirties. How long had she been stuck here? How long since she'd seen the Doctor?

I moved a little closer until I could hear Rose asking Jack how he'd survived the Dalek attack and gotten off of Games Station, and something seemed to occur to her.

"The Doctor," she suddenly said, her cheeks flushed with colour. "Is he with you?"

"He's here," I said, showing myself. Rose looked from Jack to me, and back again.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

"Rose, this is…" Jack began.

"I'm Jocelyn," I finished for him. Rose's expression was guarded as she looked me up and down, assessing me.

"You're traveling with him too," she said. It was a statement rather than a question. "You're his… companion."

I saw the teenaged girl the Doctor had described in the woman standing before me – the Doctor's unrequited love. She deserved the truth.

"I'm his lover," I told her as gently as I could, and she blanched.

"His _lover_?" She exclaimed. "But the Doctor can't… He doesn't… His _lover_?"

"I think he needs to see you," I said. She nodded numbly and allowed Jack to lead her out of the book store, and back toward the TARDIS.

I poked my head through the blue door and spotted the Doctor fiddling with the probability drive. He noticed me and called: "Joss, have you been playing with this thing?"

"Doctor," I said tightly, and my tone ensured his instant attention. "Jack and I ran into an old friend of yours." I opened the door a little wider and ushered Rose into the TARDIS for the first time in ten years.

"Rose," he breathed. He stepped away from the console but seemed unable to move any further. I could see tears coursing down Rose's face.

"Doctor," I said, sending him a silent plea with my eyes, and he looked at me sharply. "She knows," I told him. He nodded and stepped forward, taking the weeping girl in his arms.

I felt Jack's hand on my shoulder and his breath in my ear.

"C'mon," he muttered, and pulled me gently out the door again.

We walked a short distance in silence before Jack said:

"That took guts, inviting her back to the TARDIS to see him."

"As if it wasn't going to happen anyway," I snorted.

"But it needed to be you who suggested it," he replied. We sat on a bench within sight of the TARDIS. "It's going to be okay," Jack said.

I shook my head. Jack and the Doctor could assure me that things had been different with Rose until the cows came home, but its easy to say that when its all theoretical, when you didn't have a living, breathing Rose standing right in front of you.

Jack may have loved Rose, but she loved the Doctor, and he loved her back, so where did that leave me?

We sat together in silence and waited. I stared at my hands and tried to remember what my life had been like before I'd met the Doctor. Empty. It had been empty. The word clanged in my head over and over – EMPTY EMPTY EMPTY – and I have no idea how much time passed before I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye: the TARDIS's door opening, and two figures emerging.

I stood. I didn't allow my knees to tremble, although they wanted to. I was going to take whatever came on my feet and with my head held high.

Rose's cheeks were a little blotchy from crying, but her tears had dried up and she had a smile on her face. She looked radiant, in fact.

"C'mon, let's get something to eat, I'm starved!" She chirped. "I know a place that does great chips!"

She looped one arm through Jack's and the other through the Doctor's and started leading them away. The Doctor offered his other arm to me, grinning, and I took it, smiling thinly. So I was invited for chips, anyway, I thought.

The three chattered easily as they ate, but I could barely swallow anything, and said very little. Jack and the Doctor cast the occasional worried glance in my direction, but as far as Rose was concerned, I might have well not existed. After a while I excused myself, and made my way back to the TARDIS.

I stood outside the blue police box, resting my head against the door, and breathed the cold London air with my eyes closed. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned, expecting to see a police officer, or a kindly passer-by, or at best, Jack.

Instead, I saw Rose.

"Well, what are you doing out here?" I asked.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing," she replied. And then: "You think I'm gonna take him away, don't you?"

"Aren't you?"

She smiled at me, all big white teeth and full pink lips.

"I wouldn't even if I wanted to, and I couldn't if I tried," she said, somewhat cryptically, and she hugged me. Surprised, I hugged her back, and when she stepped away, the Doctor was there with us. Without another word, Rose walked away and left us alone.

We stood facing one another; a queer half-smile was on his face as he asked:

"You look inside a person and see what they need. How do you do that?"

"I just do," I whispered. I couldn't look away from his beautiful face, his eyes held me and I was helpless. My hands moved as if they had a mind of their own, touching his cheek and moving down his throat to his chest. I could feel the dual flutter of his hearts beneath my palm and I could see what he needed, just as much as I needed it, too.

"Doctor," I breathed, and I was lost in him.

Afterwards, I clung to him, trembling, and he held me equally tight.

"You seem… frantic," he murmured, stroking my hair.

"I thought I'd lost you," I said, my voice muffled against his neck. "I thought when you saw Rose again it'd be all over between us."

The Doctor was quiet for a moment, and I began to wonder if he was about to tell me it _was_ all over between us, that this had been goodbye.

"Why would you think that?" He asked, finally.

I propped myself up on one elbow and gazed down at him. "You really don't know?"

He shook his head.

"You managed to extract a promise from me never to leave you as long as I lived," I told him. "But you've never promised me anything like that in return. And how could you? You're going to live so much longer than I am. You're never going to age – in 50 years time you'll still be young but I'll be old."

The Doctor smiled at this. "I'll never be young anymore," he said. "I'm over 900 years old, remember."

"But you'll never look a day over 35; you'll never age like I will."

"But I still want to you stay as long as you live. I'll never ask you to leave, I can promise you that," he assured me.

I thought about this for a while.

"But I _am_ going to grow old one day, my body will start wearing out, what happens when I'm too old to travel any more?" I asked him.

"I'll take care of you," he said, simply.

"You'll take care of me?"

"Yes."

"When I'm old and doddery and going senile, you'll take care of me." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Yes," he said again, smiling a little. I shook my head. It all sounded too simple.

"And what if we get separated? What if I get stuck on some alternative earth, like Rose?" I asked.

"I won't allow that to happen."

"You allowed it to happen to her," I pointed out.

"It was the only way to keep her safe."

"Keep her safe? With everything we get ourselves into, you can't promise to keep _me_ safe, either," I reminded him.

"Then we won't get ourselves into anything anymore," he decided.

Just like that, the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, was going to settle down somewhere and live a quiet life, just to keep me from harm? I put this too him.

By explanation, he told me a story:

"I met a nice couple once, when I was traveling with Rose. Friends of her parents. They were getting married. They'd met on a street corner at two in the morning – she'd lost her purse and didn't have money for a taxi, and he gave her a lift home. I helped to save their lives because I'd never had anything like that in my life."

He sat up and took my small pale hands in his large, slender ones, and looked at me earnestly.

"But I can have a life like that with you, even if it's just for a short while, for as long as you live."

We sat quietly together as I digested this. And I came back to my original worry.

"But you could have that with Rose, too, now."

"It's been nearly two Earth years since I lost Rose," he told me. "Which isn't a long time for me. But it's been ten years for her, and she's moved on with her life. She doesn't need me anymore. But what about you? Do _you_ need me?"

"You know I do," I said.

"Do you love me?"

"You know that, too."

"Then I promise never to leave you, never as long as you live, and I promise to always take care of you," he said firmly. "Is that enough?"

"More than enough," I said with a smile, and kissed him.

So we left Rose to get on with her life, and Jack traveled with us, but after a while he became impatient with being the "third wheel", and he left to pursue his own life, too.

And the Doctor and I pursued ours.

**NOW**

So I suppose you're wondering, what with all my promises never to leave him as long as I lived, and his promises always to take care of me, where the Doctor is now? And how did I end up in a place like this?

Well, you've met the gorgeous young man who visits me every day, and I've let you believe he's my grandson. That's what everyone else thinks, too. The nurses all think he's a wonderfully loyal and dedicated grandson who comes to visit his dear old Nan every day, and calls her Joss like she's a young woman, and makes up stories about far away places and adventures we've had together to keep me amused. But he's not my grandson. I was never able to have children, and therefore, no grandchildren either.

He's the Doctor.

I'm 90 years old now and he's nearly 1000, and yet he still doesn't look a day over 35, does he? He took care of me on his own for as long as he could, but in the end I had to come here. He keeps the TARDIS just around the corner, and though they won't let him stay with me nights, he's here during the day.

I've told him time and time again that he should leave me, continue to travel, find another companion (if not another lover) and just go. But he promised me all those years ago and he is a man of his word.

I'm old now, and I'm getting tired. My body is wearing out and I can't regenerate like he can. He still looks the same as he did the day he walked into my life. And he still has that scar, you know. Its faint and you wouldn't notice it unless you knew it was there, especially under all that lovely hair, but its there. The scar from the cut I cleaned and dressed, and kissed when I couldn't help myself, I'd been so worried, he'd been gone such a long time, just getting food.

We've been together 60 years, but not for much longer. "As long as I live" is almost up for me. And I wouldn't have missed it for the world.


End file.
